


Sensationalism for the Feed

by QSoC



Series: Hills of Gold [2]
Category: Howl Series - Diana Wynne Jones, Howl's Moving Castle - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-16
Updated: 2018-06-16
Packaged: 2019-05-24 01:42:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14945259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QSoC/pseuds/QSoC
Summary: A slow, toothy grin spread across his face as he imagined the feeling of walking into that front room tonight, seeing a second pair of green eyes widen as their mouth fell.





	Sensationalism for the Feed

"Oh my god."

"Megan,"

"Oh my GOD."

"Oh, come on-"

"Are you actually going to do it?"

"No, I just spent £5 getting the bus and back to buy it for a laugh."

"Dad is going to KILL YOU"

"Well, it's none of Dad's BUSINESS is it?"

"... so, what, are you a punk now?"

"Christ, Megan, it's not like I've shaved my head and robbed a record store!"

"You do own a leather jacket..."

"Lots of people own leather jackets!"

"Whatever... just don't start trying to play guitar again, I can't be dealing with that as well as the fall-out from... this."

* * *

 

The enamel was cool and hard and grounding from where he sat on the edge of the bathtub, fingers tapping by his hip as he stared across at the crumpled plastic bag on the sink. The increased heartbeats and blood pressure of anxious adrenaline caused his face to flush, and he remembered the burning of his hand as he's snatched the bag off the counter, stalking away from the questioning smirk of the counter girl in the chemist. Whatever, it was nothing to do with her... and he didn't see why Megan cared so much either.

The memory of his burning hand was made all the more cutting by the similar sensation spreading around the base of his neck. Not for the first time, he wondered how long it had been - in the frustration and desperation to get away from his sister he'd forgotten to pick up the clock from his bedside table. Sharp, powdered, acidity filled his nose and he resisted the urge to itch his scalp where it had begun to prickle at the top of his head. Maybe this meant it was time to wash it off. He didn't want to do it too soon though... even as he resolved to wait as long as possible his mind filled with heard horror stories of hair falling out, turning green, being stuck like that for months. He couldn't decide which was worse. Maybe just a few more minutes.

Raising his eyes from the bag, he looked towards the mirror attached to the wall opposite. God, this better pay off. He could see it already, around his forehead, where the pale blue paste was scrapped back slightly - a golden yellow peeking through and blending into white skin. The brightness of it shocked him, the pupils of bright green eyes staring back widening slightly in horror at... shit, how dramatic this was going to be. The fear inspired him somewhat, thrilled him at the thought of freedom, of having finally taken control. Kind of, at least. This was one thing his father couldn't take away from him. A slow, toothy grin spread across his face as he imagined the feeling of walking into that front room tonight, seeing a second pair of green eyes widen as their mouth fell.

* * *

 

Breath held, eyes squeezed shut, the shower head in one hand as water pours over your ears and cheeks and mouth. Acid and warmth surrounds you, running a hand through the hair that you know looks different to how you woke up that morning. It feels sticky and dry, so you slather your sister's conditioner all over it, right down to the ends, the softness now tickling the skin between your fingers as the strands neutralise. You spit the water that had dribbled between your lips, and there's a short moment of worry as you wonder if you accidentally swallowed some of the dye - but it this is quickly overridden by the excitement of what comes next. The towel is rough in comparison to your newly-conditioned locks as you run it over your face, screwing up your eyes, and over your hair to roughly dry. Water has dripped down your neck to wet your collar, and you drape the towel around your shoulders and turn to look in the-

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired months ago by the ~hair discourse~ that was going around on tumblr and I now can't find any trace of please tell me I wasn't imagining it
> 
> It's also dedicated to everyone who dyed your hair as an act of teenage rebellion, I see you, you're valid, and I'll always get a rush of joy every time I see the box of bleach in the chemist's. I also think it's important to remember that your hair is very much tied up with your self-identity and self-expression, and although we mock the boy about his hair all of the time, it's also interesting to think about why exactly he behaves the way he does. 
> 
> Title is from X-Ray Spex - I Am a Poseur... I am slowly constructing an entire playlist of 70s/80s HMC songs which I'm pretty sure I wont be able to keep to myself forever (a)


End file.
